Blue Birds and Red Birds
by CyclopsWasRight
Summary: Dick Grayson and Jason Todd are forced to team up when they both discover a deadly plan by the Scarecrow to terrorize Gotham City. However, what begins as a simple mission to stop these plans quickly escalates and reveals larger conspiracies in play across Gotham and beyond, all of which must be stopped by the only Dynamic Duo capable of it: Nightwing and Red Hood!
1. Crime Alley

Joe sprinted around the corner into the alley, panting and sweating. He reached for his waistband under his hoodie and felt the pistol still firmly in place. He pulled it out, but bumped into a well-dressed man with dark hair. "Thomas!" the man's wife screeched.

"Take it easy, what do you want from us?" Thomas calmly said, noticing the man's revolver. A young boy hid behind his mother and father.

Joe looked panicked. "L-listen, I don't want any trouble, I just..."

Thomas took out his wallet and waved it in front of Joe. "Take it, it's yours, just leave my family alone!"

"N-no, it's, it's not l-like..."

Joe lost his focus when the figure jumped down behind him. "Joseph Keaton. Thirty-seven years old. Still married, but your wife isn't in the picture right now. Bachelor's in chemistry, and a PhD in chemical engineering from Central City University. You're a pretty smart guy, but you're not that smart. Want to know why?"

Joe immediately bolted deeper down the alleyway. "It's because you're still running from me!" The shadowy figure shouted before continuing its pursuit.

Joe stumbled through a puddle and tripped over uneven pavement while the shadow kept the hunt up. Reaching the alley's dead end, Joe panicked. He wiped the sweat off his brow and then jumped straight up, arms grasping for the fire escape. His fingertips latched onto the ladder, sending it _thudding_ down, sparking on impact with the concrete. He scuttled up the ladder and bounded up each flight on stairs. Once on the rooftop, Joe stopped to catch his breath, only to look back up into the eyes of his hunter. He was a tall man, wearing a sleek black full-body suit. There were some striking blue accents on the suit's legs and hands, along with a symbol on the chest: a bird. The man pushed his raven hair out of the way of his eyes, which were obscured by a domino mask. "Have you seriously never heard of how fast I am?" Nightwing said.

Joe's eyes widened. "You're not him..."

"What?"

Joe let out a war cry and ran right towards Nightwing, disorienting and pushing past him. Joe huffed and huffed while keeping his sprint up, but quickly approached the end of the building. He built more speed and took a leap of faith onto the next rooftop. Nightwing kept in pursuit, and the two raced from apartment building to apartment building. "C'mon Joe, I know you did the long jump for your high school track team, but you can't keep this up forever! I just need you to tell me a couple things!"

Joe looked back briefly but kept his speed, causing him to stumble. Nightwing took advantage of this and threw an escrima stick at the back of his knee, making him completely collapse. Joe stayed alert on the ground, shaking and pointing his pistol back up at the vigilante. Nightwing sighed. "Now, let's be reasonable here. Just put the gun down and-"

A gunshot rang out. They weren't uncommon in Gotham City, but this one was too close for comfort. Nightwing dove in to disarm Joe, but he had already dropped the weapon - along with his index and middle fingers, which were sitting alongside the gun in a pool of blood.

Nightwing heard a voice over his shoulder. " _Don't move._ I've been tailing this guy all night. Just let me deal with my business."

Nightwing stood up and turned around, coming face to face with a man holding a smoking glock. He was wearing black military-style boots, a grey bodysuit with a striking red emblem on the chest, holsters around the waist, an old brown leather jacket, and a bright red helmet completely covering his head and face.

"Jason."

"Dick."

* * *

 _AUTHOR'S NOTE_

Welcome to the first chapter of _many_ in a saga spanning all across Gotham City's grimy, crime-filled underbelly. While this may start out as a straightforward mission to find out _whatever the hell is going on,_ this will soon build up to become so much more.

Feel free leave a review offering criticism, advice, or even what you're enjoying about the story so far, where you hope it goes, and what you think you'll see. I have plenty of free time this summer, so I'm hoping to write out a _lot_ more of this story soon. I already have roughly the next five chapters planned out so far, this story is going to get _intricate._


	2. Sibling Rivalry

"What the hell do you want with this guy?" Dick tried his best to stay calm as Joe shook on the ground, pressing his bloody hand into his hoodie sleeve.

Jason popped the cartridge out of his glock and reloaded with a clip from his jacket pocket. "I told you, this is _my_ business, not your's. _Just let me handle it."_

Dick's tone got harsher as he approached the Red Hood, making eye contact. "Does this dumb mask limit your vision _that much?"_ he scoffed, arrogantly tapping on Jason's helmet. "Have you not seen me spend the entire night chasing this guy all the way from Midtown?"

Jason pushed Nightwing's chest with force. " _Well I've been chasing him too!_ What do _you_ want with him?"

"The papers," Nightwing retorted, "Joe over here leaked several, umm, _suspect_ documents online. Tim was scanning some public servers and sent them to me to investigate."

"Are you talking about the fear toxin thing?" Dick knew Jason was smirking under the mask. Jason always liked to think he was being clever.

"And you know about this h-"

"Kill contract. There was a hit put on him, and here I am."

Joe shrieked, reminding the pair that they were arguing right next to him. Dick looked shocked and Jason just sighed before continuing. "Well, I wasn't the one who took the contract. When big shots like the Scarecrow put hits on civilian scientists with clean records, you already know something isn't adding up." Jason was pacing back in forth in front of Dick and Joe like a schoolteacher orchestrating a lesson. "I heard some whispers about what this might entail, and I knew I wanted to get to the bottom of it. I've been stalking this guy all night too, he could probably tell you that himself. So here I am, looking for answers."

Dick replied condescendingly. "So we have a common goal here?"

"I guess so, but I'm _not_ working with you," Jason groaned.

"Why, just because I don't approve of you playing cowboy?"

"Guns are effective! You don't see any of my villains breaking out of Arkham Asylum for the weekend!"

 _"Your_ villains? I haven't heard of any of _your_ villains."

 _"Exactly!_ And you never will! Because they're dead!"

"Oh wait, I forgot Condiment King still hangs out around here, he's about your speed."

"Shut up!"

"Aw, is someone upset that the Bat doesn't like him?"

"I'll talk to _both of you_ as long as you _STOP ARGUING LIKE CHILDREN!"_ Joe screamed from the ground.

Dick and Jason simultaneously turned to face him. "We're listening," Jason responded.

"I work for a small, private pharmaceutical company, here in Gotham City-"

Jason snickered. "Not drugs," Joe interjected, "actual medicine. To help people. But our company was recently bought out by an anonymous benefactor, and he made us immediately stop working on all of our individual projects and start working on a new one, _one of his own design._ My coworkers didn't care, we all started getting paid a _lot more._ But I realized that this, what we're doing, _just isn't right._ Risking my life, I leaked all of the project's documents online."

"Project Phobos," Dick acknowledged, "it's the name the papers gave it, a new formula of fear toxin. Scarecrow's trademark. It's supposed to be improved, but to what extent?"

"I don't know, I left before they even began trials on _mice._ But one thing I do know, well, there were some whispers about it, is that they're going to mass produce it at Ace Chemicals. I have no idea how far up this thing goes..."

"Great," Jason replied, "that's a lead.

"But before you go, can one of you get me to a _damn hospital?!"_ Joe winced in pain and nodded towards his fingers on the floor.

Dick looked to Jason. "We can't bring him to one, you said there's a hit on him, right? We have no idea who could be after him, he'll be safer in my apartment. I'll get Tim to come over, patch him up, and keep an eye out."

He could feel Jason already smirking under the mask again. "You can't just hide him away in the _Batcave?"_

"Bru-, Batman's been really busy dealing with something involving the Riddler. Knowing about another _grand criminal conspiracy or whatever_ is just too much, even for him. Batman can only be so many places at once. We can handle this ourselves."

"Did you say _'we?'"_ There was the hidden smirk again.

 _"_ Shut up."


	3. The Case of the Chemical Syndicate

"It looks like we might be a _little_ late for recon," Jason muttered into his helmet's communicator, peering down from the chemical plant's elevated walkway. Scarecrow's armed guards were swarming the factory like ants, with the massive vats of chemicals like their anthills. Scarecrow was overseeing his colony from the center of the room, talking to several scientists.

Dick whispered into his mask's communicator from a catwalk across from Jason's, on the other side of the room. "They've already finished producing the toxin in the form of a serum, _and_ putting it into barrels for shipment _who knows where."_ A large pallet of steel drums sat near a shipping door, where an empty truck was waiting. "There's no way we can get to the vat now, if we can even figure out _which_ vat it's in."

"Let's _not_ investigate that, being up here in this costume is intimidating enough already, I'd hate to end up like the last guy."

Suddenly, Scarecrow started barking orders to his henchmen and scientists. The truck was loaded with the barrels and it immediately took off, but not before Scarecrow slipped himself into the passenger's seat. Most of the henchmen left, presumably entering vehicles outside. About a dozen remained to guard the facility's main floor.

"Well, this is a lot more manageable," Jason sneered.

"What about the truck?"

"Well we need to find out where it's going, let's have some fun with it." The bright lights of the plant immediately reflected off of the smoke grenade Jason pulled from his pocket, which he then waggled in the air, showing it off to Dick. "Five... four... three... two..."

Jason pulled the pin and dropped it beyond the walkway's railing, directly on top of the guards. Nightwing and Red Hood leaped down from their hiding spots like a pair of synchronized divers at the Olympics, easing right into the combat. While Scarecrow's hired guns were no strangers to fighting with their vision obscured by smoke, the two Robins were _born in it._ Everyone in the room was acquainted with Batman's fighting style, some just more well than others. Jason uppercut a thug with a satisfying _crunch,_ thinking to himself how that sound never gets old, while Dick swept another off his feet with a well-timed escrima stick to the knees. Red Hood ducked a jab while Nightwing took that henchmen out with a _whack_ to the head. Jason pulled his glock out of its holster, breaking a thug's nose with it in the same motion, then firing at another in the thigh. "I thought I told you rubber bullets only!" Dick yelled, using both sticks in the skirmish now.

Jason fired at someone else in the arm. "I brought 'em, just didn't feel like using 'em! But if you want me to be polite to our lovely hosts..." he shouted, throwing his gun into a goon's face, making him crumple. When he started getting up, Nightwing shocked him with the electrical cartridges in his escrima sticks.

The fighting was brief, and Dick and Jason stood triumphant. This was like an average Tuesday night for the pair, nothing too special. "Maybe one of you could tell us where that truck is heading and why?"

 **. . .**

"I hope those two are alright out there," Joe muttered to himself, lying down on Dick's sofa.

"Is everything alright in there? Stitches feeling good?"

Joe stared at his hand, with his fingers back on it. "Absolutely delightful," he mockingly said.

Tim walked in from the kitchen, in sweatpants and holding a bowl of microwave popcorn. "I've done stitches before, on myself mostly, but I've never had to reattach fingers like that. I did a good job, right?"

Joe sighed and took a handful of popcorn when Tim sat down next to him. "What's next on the agenda," Tim asked, holding the TV remote, "should we move onto Temple of Doom, or mix it up and skip ahead to The Last Crusade?"

"You know, I started this night out running for my life. I didn't think it would end with me under house arrest, watching movies with a superhero's teenager friend."

"Joe-"

"Call me Dr. Keaton."

" _Ahem,_ Dr. Keaton, don't patronize me like that. I was the one who found and showed your documents to Nightwing in the first place. That fear toxin, you don't think that they _actually-"_

Dr. Keaton regained the sense of fear in his demeanor from earlier. "I really hope they weren't capable of it, but I don't know for sure."

They sat in silence for a couple seconds. "So, The Last Crusade?"

"Sure, why not."

 **. . .**

Scarecrow hopped out of the truck when it pulled to a stop in the parking garage. Two armored cars full of henchmen were already there, standing guard. Scarecrow walked over to a parked limousine and opened the door, peering inside. "Do you think the rental company would approve of this?" he snickered to himself. "Hurry up and load the barrels! It's time to pay an old friend a visit."

One scientist swung the back doors of the truck open, and henchmen immediately started carting barrels into the limo.

 **. . .**

"Yeah, sure, I'll tell you," the thug spit at Nightwing from ground, "over my _DEAD BODY!"_

"I can arrange that!" Jason eagerly shoved his sidearm against the criminal's forehead.

"Take a breather Jay," Dick scolded, "what's that in his pocket?"

Jason reached down and grabbed the piece of paper. "It's a business card. _Iceberg Lounge._ Isn't that the Penguin's nightclub?"


	4. Breaking the Ice

Dick checked himself out in the bathroom mirror, adjusting his bow tie. He went over the plan again in his head as he made himself look presentable.

He was to go undercover in the Penguin's nightclub, the Iceberg Lounge, and find out what Scarecrow was planning there.

He tried to wipe some lint off his tuxedo jacket.

Jason was to stay outside and in the shadows, watching who went in and out of the club, preparing to act on it if necessary.

He matted down some strays hairs.

 _Going undercover is bad enough,_ he thought, _but HERE of all places._

He put on a fake smile on for himself in the mirror. C _onfidence is key_.

Dick dropped a five dollar bill in the grateful bathroom attendant's tip jar on the way out, pushing open the men's room's heavy mahogany door.

The Iceberg Lounge was the preferred nightclub of Gotham's elite for a reason. The two-story building was designed with an exterior of jagged, glacial-looking glass, and bright blue neon signs that approached the border of tacky, but were simplistic enough to not _quite_ make it. It had a very sleek, modern, _expensive_ aesthetic. The club had a main, grand entrance way, paved with a blue carpet and matching velvet ropes, lined with paparazzi and onlookers to the lives of the wealthy. Its interior was even more impressive with its scale, and the decor continuing with the "ice" theme. At the center of the room laid a dance floor, packed with enthusiastic partygoers, while the outskirts were lined with tables occupied by the more reserved patrons eating dinner. A tuxedo-clad jazz band was working the main stage that night, pumping the air full of music. It made the club feel like a prohibition-era speakeasy, which was fitting considering its owner and his activities. The Penguin had a private booth on the second floor, overlooking the entire club from a balcony. On another wall of the ballroom sat a bar, filled with all sorts of expensive alcohol and loud alcoholics. Adjacent to the bar and performance stage was the lounge's main interest, an enclosure and tank containing live penguins. Dick couldn't help but stare in curiosity when passing it on his beeline to the bar. _Bars are always the best source of information,_ he thought, _and t_ _his has been a long night,_ _I deserve a drink._

He sat right down on one of the only empty stools available. "One beer please, whatever's the cheapest." He flashed his ID to the bartender.

"Malone, eh? Used to have a regular in here by that name. Any relatives in town?"

 _Just a coincidence._ "Not that I'm aware of, sorry. My friends call me Matches, if that rings any bells." Matches Malone was Bruce's usual disguise when he decided to infiltrate the criminal underworld. Jason had previously "borrowed" some of Matches' IDs and papers, so he was able to lend them to Dick. Him and Bruce would look similar enough in a small, blurry driver's license photo.

"Hey bartender, his drink's on me!" the man sitting next to Dick drunkenly shouted. "Matches! It's been so long, ya didn't even say hi! How ya doin', buddy?!"

 _This was a good start, one of Bruce's reliable, not-so-bright sources of criminal information._ "Hey, uhh-"

The massive man looked heartbroken. "Oh no, don't say you don't remember me! It's Sammy! Sammy the Sledgehammer! 'Member me? We were playin' darts, I was the guy who told ya about how great that Black Mask job was a day before Batman busted it up!" Sammy erupted into a huge guffaw at that 'coincidence.' Dick politely, awkwardly chuckled along. "Now, I don't know if its the alcohol or the amount of times the Bat has given me a concussion, but you seem different. You do something with your hair?"

"Yeah, that's it." Dick slyly responded. "So, how's life been treating you? I didn't expect to see you at a place like this."

Sammy scratched the back of his shaved head. "Well, since I couldn't do jobs for Black Mask no more, I jumped around from boss to boss for a while. I was under Two Face for a bit, but I couldn't stand much of the guy. Killer Moth was an oddball, I'll tell you that. And I wouldn't recommend working for Mr. Freeze, he made us keep wearing parkas to maintain his 'image' during that heatwave last summer. I was there with Jorge and he got heat stroke from it!"

Dick listened to more henchmen stories for a while, thinking w _ho would make it their profession to get beat up by Batman and Robin?_

"Anyways, I got this nightclub security job here for the Penguin a couple weeks ago, and hopefully it stays for a bit. I get paid to sit here and drink instead of gettin' punched by the Bat!" Sammy cracked himself up again, and Dick just sat there awkwardly, again.

"So, I heard something about the Scarecrow planning something big, know anything about that?" Dick asked ambitiously, tired of hearing story after story. "I'm, uhh, looking for some new employment opportunities."

Sammy's face lit up. "Oh, yeah yeah yeah!" He then leaned in to whisper, "I heard somethin' about a new kinda fear toxin he whipped up in a lab with some doctor kinda folks, but that's all I know. Cobblepot doesn't fill us in that much on it, with him double crossing Scarecrow on that arms deal and all. Let's just say they're not buddies no more."

 _The Penguin making an enemy of Scarecrow?_ This was a lead. Dick tried to wring more information out, "What arms d-"

"But if you're lookin' to just be muscle for someone," Sammy drunkenly interrupted, "word on the street is that the Riddler is planning to expand his territory. Oh, and Harley Quinn is back in town."

"Thanks Sammy, you're a godsend." It wasn't much, but it was _something._ Dick sighed and took a huge swig of his beer.

"Slow down there. You don't want to head home early, do you?" a sultry voice asked from over his shoulder. Dick turned around and made eye contact with a smitten-looking woman. She had blue eyes, olive-colored skin, and long, dyed-white hair. Her black dress's neckline was deeper than he could afford to look. "Let's dance."

 **. . .**

Jason placed the king of clubs on top of the card pile. "Great, I win again," he mumbled. "Prettyboy goes and volunteers himself for the _fun_ job, and then has me to cover his ass for the _boring_ part." He reshuffled the deck and set up another round of solitaire for later. He stood up to stretch, putting his helmet on and walking to the edge of the rooftop, gazing across the street at the Iceberg Lounge. He watched the socialites smile and wave for pictures while entering the building, the same things that had been happening all night. But the sudden sound of skidding tires interrupted his boredom. A limousine rushed down the block, haphazardly parking near the front of the club. A twitchy man in a ill-fitting suit stepped out of the limo, slipping something into his pocket while he slammed the door, making his way straight for the main entrance. Jason recognized him as one of the scientists from Ace Chemicals. There were too many civilians around for immediate action. He started shouting and cursing into his helmet's communicator before remembering Dick wasn't wearing his mask. Pulling out his phone, he sent rapid-fire texts to Dick, praying that he would see them.

 **. . .**

Dick hopped off the bar stool, taking the woman's hand. "I'd love to."

"Good, because that wasn't a request," she smiled. The woman led Dick to the dance floor while his phone sat forgotten on the bar, vibrating over and over.

* * *

 _AUTHOR'S NOTE_

Well, I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far! I know this chapter was a little light on Jason, but sometimes Dick will be the main focus of a chapter, and sometimes Jason will be. Switching it up and showing their individual points-of-view keeps it interesting and makes for a more in-depth story. Maybe I'll pull a fast one and have a chapter entirely about Tim and Dr. Keaton hanging out in the apartment, who knows?

In my rough draft of this, Dick's escapades in the Iceberg Lounge were only supposed to last for one chapter, but I keep thinking of more and more stuff to add to it. Some very important things will happen here that set the stage for the rest of the story. If you thought this has been exciting so far, _brace yourself._

And please feel free to leave a review with criticism, praise, or predictions! I love seeing what other people have to think of my writing, or where they think the story is going next. I'm very, _very_ confident that none of you will guess where this ends up going.


	5. Best Served Cold

Dick never wanted to leave the dance floor.

"I'm getting tired, let's sit down so I can get to know the man behind the muscles," the woman whispered into his ear.

Dick was suddenly okay with leaving the dance floor.

The pair sat down at a table in the dining area, and the woman whistled for a waiter and ordered herself a drink. She then leaned forward, elbows on the table, staring into Dick's eyes. "So, do you have a name?"

He was about to call himself Matches again, but decided against it. "Grayson. Dick Grayson."

She smirked. "Your body language. The way you carry yourself makes you seem like you don't belong. Why?"

Dick suddenly felt vulnerable, this woman was dissecting him. But she didn't look like she was after him, at least in a violent sense. "I never really come to places like this, not really my scene. I was hoping to catch up with an old friend here, but I'm not so sure he's going to show up at this point." He smiled back at her. "And you?"

"Strictly on business, I'm just passing through Gotham for work. But tonight I thought I should just unwind, maybe meet some new people," She smiled back, "work can always wait."

"And what is it that you do?"

"Oh, I'm not sure if you'd like to know. If I told you, I'd have to kill you. And I would _hate_ to do that."

Dick paused. He realized he must've looked pretty concerned with that statement when she cracked up and playfully punched him in the arm. "Oh lighten up, I'm just messing with you!" The waiter arrived with her drink and she took a sip before placing it down on the table. "I'm in my family business. My dad kinda forced me into it, he thinks my talents are wasted elsewhere. Just between the two of us, I can't stand much of the guy." She took another, longer sip. "But it pays well enough for me to come to places like here for fun, so I can't complain too much."

Dick nodded along and chimed in. "I get what you mean. In my line of work-"

"And what would that be?"

"Security, I guess you could call it. But I always feel like my, umm, coworkers are just too much. On a bad day, I'm paired off with my least favorite person in the world, and on a good day, I feel like nothing more than someone else's sidekick. I'm so concerned with working effectively with everyone else that I feel like I have no time for _myself._ Work just absorbs so much of my time, I'm almost always on the job. I have no time to slow down and be myself, decide what _I_ like, what _I_ want."

She leaned closer. "And what _do_ you want, Dick Grayson?"

 **. . .**

 _Something must have happened to Dick, something BAD,_ Jason thought. He wasn't picking up his phone, and the stakeout was close to reaching DEFCON 1. But the other thing worrying Jason was the limousine stayed parked right outside the Lounge. If Scarecrow really wanted to sneak his scientist in and keep it covert, someone would've just dropped him off and driven away, to not look suspicious. But the limo just lingered there, _waiting for something._

Jason sighed. "Well, I guess it's my time to shine." He took a deep breath and somersaulted off the rooftop, landing in the street. The crowd of onlookers collectively shrieked and the paparazzi began taking even more photos than before. Jason awkwardly waved at them on his way to the limo. He knocked on the driver's window to no response and then smashed the glass open. The vehicle was filled to the brim with fear toxin barrels, each connected with a spiderweb-like network of wires. All of them led to a terminal, and a small LCD screen displayed the numbers 11 _:07,_ which quickly changed to 11 _:06_ and then 11 _:05._

"Oh #$%&."

 **. . .**

Dick recognized Scarecrow's scientist out of the corner of his eye and immediately shot up out of his seat. The woman looked at him, confused and a little insulted. "Is everything okay?"

Dick's eyes followed the scientist awkwardly shuffling through the crowd of dancers. Dick looked back at the woman and tried to smile, "This night has been a lot of fun, but I _really_ have to go. I guess my friend decided to show up after all."

She looked a little upset at that initially, but her moment of weakness didn't last long, immediately putting her confident, seductive face back on. "You go and have fun, we'll catch up later."

Dick started to head towards the crowd, but he stopped himself and turned again to face the woman. "And how should I contact you?" Dick paused for a second before continuing. "Actually, I'm not even sure if I caught your name."

"Don't worry," she smiled at him, "I'll find you."

Dick smiled back, blushing a little. It was unusual for him. But he quickly put his mind back on the mission as he started tailing his target across the dance floor. The scientist didn't blend in too well, with a suit a size too big, thick glasses, and an unkempt head of hair and beard.

Not looking where he was walking, Dick bumped into a waiter, precariously carrying a tray full of expensive drinks. The alcohol flew everywhere, it was a mess. The entire dance floor seemed to be staring. "What the hell is wrong with you?" a man in the splash zone scolded. Dick awkwardly got up and tried to keep the peace. _So much for not sticking out._ But the center of attention shifted away from Dick when a man at the bar let out a deathly, guttural scream. The jazz band stopped playing and everyone in the Lounge was looking. The Penguin peered down from his balcony, curious and concerned. Dick glanced over the shocked crowd's shoulders, catching a glimpse of Sammy standing up, with a glistening syringe sticking out between his shoulder blades. The scientist was right behind him.

Sammy shrieked once more, and the crowd started to panic. Dick forced himself through the crowd, knocking shocked patrons over to get right to the bar. He ran right up to the scientist and authoritatively pinned him to the wall using his forearm. _"What did you do to him?!"_ Dick screamed in his face.

The doctor had the largest smile plastered on his face, he was clearly excited by what was going on. "You're really lucky," he chuckled, "this is only a prototype dose. It'll be a lot weaker and wear off after a couple hours or so. It won't spread quite as fast either."

Dick applied more pressure. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

The scientist just laughed again.

The man had clearly been driven mad, Dick had dealt with the Joker's unique brand of terrorism enough times to recognize it quickly, but he didn't take his threats as just empty ramblings. He looked back over at Sammy "the Sledgehammer," now doubled over and coughing his lungs out between the screams. He kept coughing and coughing, each sounding more painful than the last. Suddenly, some of the people around him began coughing as well, softly at first, and then violently. And then they started screaming. One person screaming like they're dying is scary enough, but a dozen people doing it is traumatizing. That was around when the panic set in, as the waves of coughing began spreading.

Dick pulled a small respirator out of his jacket pocket and put it over his mouth. While he might've not been as good of a detective as Bruce or Tim, he could still figure out what was going on. _Project Phobos was a fear toxin that spread like disease. It was viral._

And Dick knew that everyone else in the building realized this as well. That was when the true, primal panic set in.

 **. . .**

"Why couldn't it have been Bruce, Barbara, Tim, hell, even _Damien_ out here instead of me, I am the _least_ #$%&ing qualified person out of all of us to be _DEFUSING A BOMB!"_ Jason cursed to himself under his breath. _Okay, okay, where to begin._ There was no _red wire, green wire,_ all of them were the same color black. Jason was trying to stay focused, but camera flashes kept taking him out of it. He looked over his shoulder at the curious crowd. "What are you people still doing here, RUN!" Jason shouted. The crowd kept giving him the same blank stare, like it was all part of a show. They didn't understand what was going on in front of them, all they saw was a costumed vigilante doing _something._

Jason pulled out his handgun and fired four rounds into the air. The civilians went bonkers, tripping over each other to run away screaming. The area cleared out nicely. "Much better."

That calm moment was fleeting, as waves upon waves of screaming, coughing guests began rushing out of the Iceberg Lounge.

 **. . .**

Dick eased his hold on the scientist when he saw the horror unfolding around him. The doctor weaseled his way out from there, slinking down to the floor, scuttling away, and then blending into the crowd. For everyone still in the building, the combined coughing and screaming was deafening. And worse, those afflicted began to lash out. They were fighting their fears, inside and out. It began with someone throwing a glass beer bottle, and escalated into so much more. It was completely animalistic and depraved. It was what people fighting for their lives against their worst fears looked like. In isolation, one person affected like this wouldn't be a big deal, but in a mob, where the sickness could spread, where innocent bodies could get in the way, it was an unstoppable, horrifying force. In all of his years working with Batman, the Titans, and on his own, fighting against all sorts of deranged killers, psychopaths, and madmen, he had never seen anything like this. Not to this degree.

He scanned the crowd for the woman he had been talking to, but she was nowhere to be seen. _She must've already left,_ he thought. _At least she was safe._ He wanted to help the rest of the populace, but there wasn't much he could do. He had an idea, but it was interrupted by Sammy, who swung a punch at him. Dick dodged it, but not completely. The punch's full force didn't follow through, but it _still hurt._ He slid across the floor, jumping up behind him and hitting him in the back of the head with an escrima stick hidden in his jacket sleeve. The giant man went down with a _thud,_ shaking the floor. Dick stood up and wiped the blood away from his nose. While there wasn't much he could do right then and there, he could catch the scientist and find out the full extent of Scarecrow's plan. If this was just a test, the drug's _trial run,_ what was the _endgame?_

Dick tried his best to fight through the crowd to the club's back door, where he had hidden his Nightwing suit in the alleyway.

 **. . .**

"Uhh, this wire is, uhh, connected to the, uhh," Jason stuttered, completely out of his element. The lenses of his helmet were fogging up because of his sweat. All around him, screaming, terrified nightclub patrons were gushing out of the building and into the streets, going _wherever_ to get away from the horror. It certainly didn't help his concentration.

Jason whispered to himself, "I don't think I have this under control," before returning his mind to the bomb as it ticked down to 2 _:32_ and then 2:31 _._

Dick, in full Nightwing gear, ran towards Jason. "You need to follow me, _NOW!"_

Jason cocked his head towards Dick and shouted. _"CAN'T! BOMB! NOW!"_ Based on Jason's tone, Dick couldn't picture his face under the hood for once.

"Do something!"

"I've been trying, uhh, I'm not good at this stuff!"

"Well do something!"

The clock read _1:14._ Jason was out of time and out of options. The fear toxin bomb was going to go off no matter what at that point. He examined the wires again. _He could do this._ The clock read _0:58._ _There had to be some basic flaw in the bomb, something he could use to stop it._ The clock read _0:37._ "You know what, #$%& this!" Jason pulled the screen off and threw it onto the pavement. He frantically pulled on every wire, severing the connections. Dick braced for an explosion, and Jason didn't care at that point.

The bomb didn't go off.

Jason pulled off his helmet, he was _drenched_ with sweat inside of it. He stumbled back, lightheaded, and sat down. He bolted back up seconds later after noticing the scientist in the crowd. The man rounded the corner and got into a waiting armored car. Dick panicked, _how did neither of us notice that?!_

"It's okay," Jason muttered between heavy breaths, "I thought something like that might happen. So I had Tim swipe something for us to, uhh, _borrow."_ He pulled a small remote out of his jacket pocket, and clicked a button. One of Bruce's spare Batmobiles rounded the corner and parked in front of the pair, opening its doors.

"You have got to be kidding me."


	6. Hunting

The Batmobile was the best urban pursuit vehicle money could buy, and Jason was _loving it._

He shifted the wheel in his hands, making a sharp, screeching turn. Dick sat shotgun, making sure his seatbelt was still in place. They were closing in on Scarecrow's armored car. "I don't get why Bats never let me take this out for a spin more often!" Jason joyfully exclaimed.

Dick sighed, "Maybe he doesn't trust you around the spare tires?"

"I was just a kid, okay?! It was either that or not _eat_ for the rest of the week!"

The Batmobile grazed into the truck's rear bumper and sparks flew. The truck tried to speed off, but Jason kept the pursuit up and as close as possible. He wondered how Batman did this as often as he did, it was _chaotic._ Cars were grazed and hit as they tried to pull over and out of the way. A broken rearview mirror nonchalantly bounced off the Batmobile's windshield. Civilians screamed and dove out of the truck's way as it barreled through a streetlight without losing any speed. Jason didn't slow down either. Maybe the chaos was the nature of the pursuit, maybe it was the nature of the driver.

The Batmobile moved a lane over and pulled up adjacent to the truck. One of Scarecrow's thugs rolled down the passenger window and leaned out, firing off shots at Jason's window. They bounced off the bulletproof glass, but enough shots at that range would eventually do some damage. "We need to cut them off!" Jason frantically yelled, "Which button is the boost?!"

Dick laughed his head off, leaning forward and hitting his hand against the dashboard. "The _boost?_ Is this like Mario Kart to you?" He erupted into another laughing spree as Jason's window started to crack. "The _nitrous_ is the third switch to the left of the-"

Jason immediately flipped it and the Batmobile began gaining on the truck. In retaliation, the truck _slammed_ into a complete stop and began reversing before making a complete 180. The Batmobile left it in the dust, and they were getting away.

"Well shit." Jason flipped the nitrous off and shrieked as a tanker truck began crossing the street only a block ahead. There was no doubt there would be a collision, the only variable was _how bad it would be._

Jason sat behind the wheel frozen in panic, as Dick reached across him and pulled a lever next to the emergency break. The Batmobile's wheels shifted and it made the tightest and fastest possible u-turn that a multi-million dollar corporation could engineer. They were inches away from the tanker truck. Jason and Dick immediately felt the effects of whiplash, but they sped up once again to continue the pursuit in the other direction. They had a lot of ground to cover.

Jason had lost visual on the Scarecrow's truck, so they had to rely on the computer's predictive targeting system. The console screen displayed a map of Gotham with a flashing red radius; the area where they truck and scientist could be. The atmosphere inside the Batmobile got even more tense as they passed the Iceberg Lounge again, fear toxin-infected partygoers still spilling out and raving in fear on the sidewalks and in the alleys. Police were trying to contain the crowd, but some odd officers got infected as well. Jason, not slowing down, crashed through a police barrier.

"Jason!"

"What! This is a high speed chase, shit happens!"

"No! The barricade! We're the first ones through it!"

Jason felt defeated. "Oh."

Dick glanced at the car console again, noticing the radius getting even wider. Scarecrow's scientist could be anywhere in Gotham City in not much longer. Jason made a sharp turn down a narrow alleyway, sparks flying as the Batmobile scraped against the brick walls.

Dick got curious. "Why would they hide down backstreets? We're in the _Batmobile!_ They should know how these kinds of chases end."

Jason rounded another tight corner, slowing down. " _Exactly,_ that's what they're trying to _avoid."_

They parked right next to the armored van, which was parked in the middle of an empty intersection, lit by a lone streetlight. The van sat there, completely empty of passengers and cargo. Jason opened the Batmobile's gull doors and stepped out. He pat the car like a childhood pet. "Sorry girl, maybe we'll get to use more of the fun gadgets next time."

He began visually scanning the area. Bruce may have been the world's greatest detective, and Dick, Tim, and Damien were all worthy proteges, but Jason wasn't dull either. He just had his own senses, a product of growing up on the streets and fending for himself. He walked over to the middle of the street and crouched down next to the manhole cover. "There's scratches on the side of this, it's been pried open recently. Scarecrow has a history of using certain sewer routes for fear toxin distribution." He looked up at Dick. "Acting all tough and violent as the Red Hood in Gotham's underground helps me out sometimes, eh?" Dick knew Jason's smirk was lingering there under the helmet yet again.

"Well then let's get moving, we have no time to waste." Dick helped Jason pry the manhole cover open, and the smell hit the pair like a brick wall. Nevertheless, they climbed down the ladder, descending into Gotham's sewers.

 **. . .**

The barrel almost fell off it's pushcart as it rattled along the narrow, uneven concrete path above the current of sewer water. The scientist felt his heart skip a beat, but it didn't fall _._ He looked behind him to make sure the two henchmen, each with their own pushcarts and barrels, were still behind him. "So how much further do we have to go?"

"We're around the sewage treatment plant, so only a couple more blocks," one of the thugs responded, tiredness in his voice.

"Yeah, but these barrels are hea-" The second thug's complaint was cut off by a huge _CRASH._ The scientist and first thug looked back at where he used to be, his barrel on the ground. The two looked at each other and shared a mutual scream as they felt the presence of something else near them, _something much larger than them._

Killer Croc revealed himself when he tore the henchmen's arm clean from his torso mid-tackle, turning the man into hamburger with the ensuing flurry of claws and bites.

* * *

 _AUTHOR'S NOTE_

Okay, it's been a while. Well, more than a little while. And I apologize to everyone enjoying this story for taking so long. I'm mostly writing for fun, and I haven't had a ton of free time for this or the motivation to continue. When I did want to get back into writing this, I hit a bit of writer's block when figuring out how to describe the car chase, and I sat on it for a little too long.

But hopefully the next couple of chapters will come out a lot sooner. I'm not giving up on this, I still have a ton of ideas that I'm excited to show off. Did someone say the Joker gets involved? What? Who said that?

But trust me, these next couple chapters are where this story _kicks into gear and really begins._ I hope everyone is excited! As usual, I'd love to hear thoughts, criticisms, and predictions!


	7. Sewer Suicide

Dick and Jason continued through the sewers, the tunnels like a labyrinth. Jason claimed to know where he was going, but Dick felt like they've been walking in circles. It was too dark to follow any obvious tracks or clues, but the deafening crash not too far ahead was a pretty good indication of _something._ The pair sprinted through the dark and caught up with the carnage in not long.

It looked like there was a fight, but it was very one-sided. The few recovered fear toxin barrels were now astray on the ground, and there were two corpses: a scientist and a henchman. They looked like props in a horror movie. "There's three pushcarts," Dick observed, "but only two bodies?" He scanned the dark sewer. suddenly noticing the red paste he had been standing in, filled with bone fragments and scraps of cloth. He leaned over the platform's edge to puke.

"So, this is it?" Jason asked. There was a tinge of disappointment in his voice. "It doesn't look like whoever did this left anything that could give us a lead. What's next?"

Getting tackled by a giant crocodile-man was what's next.

The creature jumped out of the water and pinned Jason to the ground. He raised a scaly arm above his head, claws glinting in the dim maintenance light. Dick reacted quickly, shooting an escrima stick right at the creature, and Jason used this distraction to roll out of grip and unholster his handguns. "It's Killer Croc!" Dick yelled.

 _"Stay away from me!_ _"_ Croc cried out, swiping at Jason, who opened fire. His hide was too tough for the bullets to do anything except bruise. Dick flipped over him and struck Croc in the snout upon landing. _"You're with HER!"_ he shouted.

"With her?" Jason sneered while dodging a swinging tail, "Nightwing isn't with anyone, things with _Batgirl_ didn't end so nicely last-"

Dick interrupted. "This _REALLY_ isn't the time!" He sent several swift kicks into Croc's abdomen. Croc didn't take this lightly, grabbing his leg and throwing him into the floor.

 _"SHE'S looking for me! SHE can't find me! I need to stay hidden and none of you are helping!"_ Killer Croc referred to "her" with pure fear in his raspy voice.

Jason dropped a flashbang. "You have any idea what this is all about? And close your eyes."

Dick braced for the bright light with his arm, hitting the disoriented Croc in the throat with his other. The villain fell to the ground with a thud. "I don't have the faintest idea. But Croc usually doesn't get involved with the criminal syndicate kinda stuff."

"We can't be too sure, now can we?" Jason pulled the cracked remains of his helmet off his head and unsheathed a combat knife. "Let's get the lug to talk." He slashed a barrel open, the green liquid rushing out across the concrete and towards the beaten Croc.

"Jason!"

"What?"

The fear toxin kicked in as soon as it hit Croc's head. He started shaking, the motions getting more and more violent with each passing second. Then the shrieking began. Hearing the fear toxin's affects in the Iceberg Lounge was bad enough, but this was a hulking crocodile-man making those noises.

"You idiot, he's not going to talk! It's too strong, he's just going through his nightmares like the rest." Dick sighed.

"It was worth a shot, okay?" Jason pulled a small test tube out of his jacket pocket and scooped up some of the toxin, careful to not touch any. "We can have Tim and Keaton figure this shit out when we get back. It doesn't look like we have any more leads anyways."

Dick sighed a second time. "You're right, this looks like it's it."

Jason glanced up at him. "Do you think Batman knows anything?"

"I told you, he's busy, we don't need to bother him with this. We can handle it together, right?"

Jason glared. "I guess, I just feel like there's more to this than what it looks like."

"Whatever, we-"

Dick was interrupted by Killer Croc screaming even louder, scratching at his neck. Even his claws couldn't get through his skin. "Geez, what's he so afraid of?" Jason sneered.

"C'mon," Dick said, "let's just get back to the apartment and then we can figure the rest of this out."

 **. . .**

It was the crack of dawn, and Dick and Jason stood on the sidewalk, staring at the smoldering remains of Dick's apartment. Tim and Keaton were nowhere in sight. Jason looked at Dick.

"Ok, _now_ we'll go to Bruce for help."

* * *

 _AUTHOR'S NOTE_

Yeah, it's been a while. Again. I've been pretty busy, but I'm still dedicated to finishing this story, and there's a lot of exciting stuff that I still have planned. The next chapter will show what Tim and Keaton were up to that long night while Dick and Jason have been off fighting crime. They obviously weren't just watching movies the _whole time._

I hope everyone keeping up with this is still enjoying it!


	8. The Night Before

Dick kicked open the door of his apartment, still dressed in his full Nightwing suit. He sprinted into his bedroom, and grabbed a hanger with a dry-cleaner's bag over it: his tuxedo. "I NEED TO GRAB THIS, CAN'T EXPLAIN NOW!" he shouted, speeding back out of the apartment. The door slammed.

"Okay," Tim muttered back. He was sprawled out on the couch, munching away on popcorn. He carelessly wiped his buttery fingertips on the leg of his sweatpants. His attention was returned to the TV screen, with the fourth Indiana Jones movie playing. He had a job, sure: to protect Dr. Keaton at all costs. But it didn't mean he couldn't relax, all he had to do was just babysit the guy. Dick and Jason were doing all the heavy lifting.

Keaton was trying to stay focused on the movie, but he was just too nervous. He had been chased across Gotham all night by the Red Hood, with who-knows-how-many other mercenaries on his tail. He got his fingers shot off and sewed back on. He was staying in Nightwing's apartment with some random kid who knows Nightwing and an awful lot about fear toxin. Oh, and Scarecrow had perfected his new fear toxin, Project Phobos was near completion. Keaton had more than enough to stress over.

And then the window cracked. Keaton looked up and saw a perfectly round hole in the glass. He shot his head the other way and saw a bullet hole in the drywall of the apartment. "GET DOWN!" Tim shouted, tackling Keaton to the floor right before a flurry of holes in the glass. Their location was compromised, a sniper was outside.

Tim assessed the threat. They were on the sixth floor, so it had to be a sniper, across the street at the least. Keaton was a high-value target, but not one that would require a lot of skill to take down. Scarecrow probably wouldn't waste his money on getting an experienced killer. Any maniac or junkie with a sniper rifle and a slightly steady hand would have a decent shot at killing a civilian like Keaton.

Tim found himself proven very, _very_ wrong when Deathstroke burst through the window. Scarecrow wanted Keaton _more_ than dead.

"Dr. Keaton!" Tim shouted, "I want you to hide in the bathroom! Now!" Deathstroke dropped his sniper rifle and unsheathed his sword, staring at the Boy Wonder. Keaton got up and sprinted, locking himself in the bathroom. At least he would be alive for a couple more seconds. He sat on the toilet, recollecting his thoughts: every single regret and triumph in his cut-short life. He stopped while reminiscing of his high school days when he saw the window and fire escape ladder. He didn't have to think twice about what to do next.

As Deathstroke followed Keaton, Tim rolled over and grabbed his staff from underneath the sofa, where he had stashed it earlier. In one fluid motion, he smacked Deathstoke in the chest, causing him to recoil. Tim wasn't anywhere near as strong as the mercenary, but he just needed to be a distraction. Deathstroke turned around, glaring at Tim through his orange and black helmet. "Ah, Robin. It's a lot different to see you without your tights on."

"Eww. P _hrasing,_ Slade." Tim dodged before Deathstroke cut the sofa in half.

Tim had fought Deathstroke before, but that was only with the help of the Teen Titans. And there were no "wins" when fighting Slade Wilson, only stalemates. The man was a force of nature, the greatest mercenary alive or dead. A skilled fighter to rival Batman, and a strategic mastermind to rival, well, Batman. Even with only one eye and an aging body, Deathstroke is the last man you want to see at the other end of a hallway. There's a reason he's nicknamed the Terminator, and it's not just to sound impressive on his business cards.

Tim somersalted across the room, smirking. He landed perfectly, and spun his staff around. It was all false confidence, but that's all that he needed. Tim just needed to buy some time, put on a show. "Bring it on!" he dramatically bellowed.

Deathstroke sheathed his sword, which was the last thing Tim had expected him to do. "Enough games, I don't have time for this." Tim was puzzled and let his guard down, which gave Deathstroke the time to pull the pin on an explosive grenade. "Catch."

The apartment exploded, a flurry of flames roaring in the spot in the building where it once occupied. Loose bricks and shards of glass rained down upon the street like a hellish hailstorm. A wave of car alarms were activated. Deathstroke, who jumped unscathed onto the street, took to the alleyways to find his target.

 **. . .**

Keaton heard the explosion and picked up his speed. He was exactly where he was earlier that night, sprinting down alleyways to escape a mercenary. Although he'd much rather deal with Red Hood again over Deathstroke, as much as he hated thinking that. He reached for the waistband under his hoodie and did not notice his pistol still firmly in place, he must've left it in the smoldering apartment. And his fingers hurt. And he also really had to go to the bathroom. So Keaton was actually _worse off_ than he was earlier that night.

Keaton lost his cool when a figure jumped down behind him. His fight-or-flight mechanism kicked in, and with no other options, it was very much set to "fight." It took until _after_ Keaton punched the shadow in the face to realize that it wasn't Deathstroke. Deathstroke didn't wear all black, have a cape, have bat ears, or wear a Batman insignia on his chest.

"Come on, I'm here to help you. Follow me, now!" Batman gruffly responded.

* * *

 _AUTHOR'S NOTE_

I know it's been a while, again. And I keep saying that every time I post an update. I don't always have enough time and energy for this, but I still want to keep writing this story. There still a long ways to go, but I think it'll be worth the wait. I just hope everyone enjoyed this update!

I'm hoping to put up the next chapter relatively soon, as I already have it sketched out for the most part. It'll be a bit of an epilogue for this first part of the story, and will set up a majority of the main plot threads moving forward. The next chapter is where the story _really_ begins.

And for anyone worried about Tim's fate, trust me, there's more to this scene than was shown so far. I fave future plans for Tim, but you'll just have to wait and see what they are.


End file.
